


A Work of Art

by Circadienne



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-09
Updated: 2010-01-09
Packaged: 2017-10-06 01:32:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Circadienne/pseuds/Circadienne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because I really had to get it out of my system.  Very mild spoilers for SGA 4:03 "Reunion." Gen, team fic, about 500 words.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Work of Art

"I had to pay Master Vestak another forty shesten, Ronon. I assume you will reimburse me." Teyla, still dressed in the BDU she'd worn while shepherding the culinary staff through another shopping expedition, deposited a large flat parcel, wrapped in rough cloth and tied with red string, on the mess hall table. It wasn't very heavy, for its size, but it was big, and flat, and hard to manage when you were trying to coordinate a train of a half-dozen pallet jacks, wending their way through the Five Petals Market on greenmarket day.

Ronon smiled up at her. "Believe me, when you see this thing -- if it's as awesome as I expect it to be -- you will think it well worth what you spent. What I spent," he corrected promptly, seeing her frown.

John, at the next table over, moved his rook forward, taking Rodney's queen, and said, "Checkmate." Then he glanced toward Ronon, and Ronon's package. "Oh, you didn't."

"I thought that was my line," Rodney muttered, staring at the chessboard. "How the hell did you do that?"

"Years of study and contemplation. You should try it sometime." John pushed his chair back and went to stand next to the Satedan. "That's not what I think it is."

"Depends on what you think it is." Ronon flipped eight or nine inches of flashy steel out of his belt and sliced through the strings, then pulled the fabric off the -- what was it? Teyla leaned across the table.

"Oh, that's really -- something," John laughed.

The awkward item she'd hauled back to Atlantis was obviously a painting. Under a lurid red sky, three dark figures stood atop a mountain. Three very familiar-looking figures. The middle one held a sword over his head.

"Ronon, this is a painting of -- "

He grinned at her. "Yep. Isn't it great?"

She blanched. "It is certainly -- bellicose. But why does Dr. McKay not appear?"

"No, he does. He's back in the jumper. See?" Ronon pointed toward the lower left corner of the painting, where a rectangular blotch of dark paint might have been the outline of a puddlejumper.

This was enough to get Rodney out of his chair, pushing John aside to look at the picture. "Oh, dear God. No, I think I'm okay with being, um, back in the jumper. I'd never even imagined the three of you as -- wow. Where did you find someone in the Pegasus Galaxy who knows how to paint Klingons?"

"On Sateda," Ronon explained, "it was traditional that, after a great battle, there would be a portrait made showing the victors dressed in their tribal war robes. So how better to celebrate our victories against the Wraith than to have a portrait painted showing us in the traditional clothes of one of Earth's great warrior peoples?"

Teyla took a deep breath, contemplating the figure with shoulder-length hair and breasts molded into its armor which was apparently intended to represent her. "It is a very great honor you do us, Ronon. I am -- honored. Greatly."

"Also," John said, clapping him on one shoulder, "it looks really cool."

"Yeah, it sure does," said Ronon, cheerfully. "I think next time we go to Pajiara, I'll have him do a blue one where we're Jedi."


End file.
